


only fools fall for you

by intertwiningwords



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Deaf Verse, F/M, Hook Up, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Multi, Rape Aftermath, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love, kind of play-based?, the plot of this is just that melchior gabor is terrible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:13:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7728280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intertwiningwords/pseuds/intertwiningwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>falling in love can be scary. falling in love with melchior gabor is downright dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	only fools fall for you

**Author's Note:**

> title and lyrics from "fools" by troye sivan.  
> i decided i wanted to write something really sad, and i was ranting to my dad about how shitty melchior is in the play, and this happened.  
> (i'm so sorry.)  
> enjoy! x

**one: moritz**

_everything is shattering and it’s my mistake_

It bewildered Moritz that after all the years they had know each other, Melchior still seemed to like him. So many days and nights spent in each other’s company, and they had yet to grow sick of each other.

Ever since they were little, Moritz had always been drawn to Melchior. He was everything that Moritz thought he was not; attractive, confident, intelligent, and popular. And as they became closer, he always discovered new little things about Melchior that fascinated him. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he laughed and the way his hand dragged across the paper when he wrote and the way he slept sprawled out on his back like a starfish, leaving Moritz curled up in the corner of the bed during sleepovers (not that Moritz ever really minded).

When Melchior wrote ten pages explaining sex to him, he read it over, and over, and over again. Surely he was missing something.

“What you wrote about the female…? That’s what I want.”

Melchior didn’t seem to understand him, and dismissed his worries.

But Moritz couldn’t stop thinking about it.

To be underneath, to be touched, to be ravished like a woman, that is what he wanted. But what scared him the most was that every time he thought about it, it was Melchior on top of him.

Melchior was beautiful, anyone could see that. But Moritz was so drawn to him, it couldn’t be right.

“I love you,” he told him one day. It was out of the blue, and he regretted it the minute he did it.

Melchior had chuckled, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Moritz, I love you too. But I only want what I have to fight for.”

Moritz didn’t even understand what the fuck that meant. Why fight for love when it was right there in front of you? He closed in on himself, began avoiding Melchior. But Melchior had helped him study, which was probably the only damn reason he passed the middle-terms.

When he failed, it was enough to drive him over the edge.

When he went out into that forest with his father’s gun tucked in his pocket, he didn’t go because of Melchior. There were so many things wrong in his life, it was the last of his worries.

But when Ilse mentioned him, how they would all play together, all the memories of Melchior came flooding back. Rolling around in the grass, hiding behind trees from Wendla and Ilse, the time they were nine and kissed each other so softly and quickly yet it made Moritz feel like he was flying-

When he pulled the trigger, he imagined Melchior finding his body, crying and trying to wake him, hands touching his lifeless body. It sent a strange shiver through him.

Melchior didn’t cry at his funeral.

 

**two: wendla**

_i see a little house on a hill and children’s names._

Wendla thought Melchior loved her. She really, truly believed that when he kissed her, unbuttoned her dress, spread her legs open, and pushed himself inside her, that he loved her. People kiss when they love, after all. When she found out that she was carrying a child, _his_ child, inside her, she felt overwhelmed with a cocktail of emotions she could barely explain. Fear, for how this would affect her life. Confusion, because she still didn’t know how this could have happened. Shame, for upsetting her mama. But mostly there was happiness, and hope. They could run away, start a new life, build a new world for their child.

Their _child_.

He’d told her he loved her as little as she loved him. But her mama has told her that in order to conceive a child, she must love her husband. And while Melchior was not her husband, surely they had to love each other for it to happen, right?

After that night in the hayloft, she had felt empty, and disgusting. Her wrists were lightly bruised from where he'd held them and she was sore.

Now, the bruises had faded, and she was so excited to be a mother.

Her and Melchior could get married, be together…

When he was sent away, she wrote to him, telling him they should go far away and live a happy life. She never heard back from him, never got to see him again. Not before her mama dragged her to the doctor and sent her into that room while she cried, and kicked, and screamed.

She died scared and lonely.

She died remembering all the days they spent as children, running around in the grass and playing pretend, all the way to the night in that hayloft.

She died wondering if Melchior would miss her. Mourn her. Cry for her.

She died wondering if Melchior really loved her.

(Sometimes, there are questions best left unanswered.)

 

**three: thea**

_our lives don’t collide, i’m aware of this._

Thea would swear she fell in love with Melchior Gabor the first day she saw him. She was eight, he was seven, and he was fiddling with the suit jacket he was forced to wear to church that Sunday morning. Thea had grabbed her sister’s hand and told her, ‘That’s the boy I want to marry.’

Melitta had scoffed at her, thinking she was silly to believe she could know such a thing so early. But Thea was determined, and after the service, she approached him. He didn’t seem to feel love at first sight like she had, but she decided that was alright.

As they grew older, Melchior only got more handsome. She got prettier too, or so her mother and sister insisted. The only time she truly got to see Melchior was at church, so when he stopped going, she thought she’d go mad.

One day she was out with Melitta, gathering herbs and flowers, and she saw him sat beneath a tree, scribbling wildly in a battered leather journal. She had grinned at her sister and skipped away, over to the boy she hadn’t seen in weeks.

She tapped his shoulder, and he looked up, startled.

He didn’t seem to even know who she was, as it took him a while to address her by name (which he spelled, because he didn’t even know her sign name).

“Why don’t you go to church anymore?” she had asked him.

“I don’t believe in God,” he had replied, nonchalantly.

“Really? Why not?”

“The Bible is a load of bullshit. I don’t expect you to understand though.”

That had annoyed her. “Try me.”

He had shook his head, a condescending smirk on his face. “Trust me, Thea. I’m going to head back home now. It was nice talking to you.”

And just like that, he left.

Thea stared at him blankly as he walked away, feeling tears fill her eyes.

First, he couldn’t even remember who she was, then he implied she was stupid, and then he left?

She spent weeks trying to find him again, to prove to him that she was more than what he thought she was. Prove she was good enough.

Her attempts were futile though; Melchior couldn’t care less about her.

She cried in the arms of her sister, in the arms of her friends.

They all comforted her, but they couldn’t understand.

She was enough, and Melchior couldn’t see that.

Maybe she wasn’t enough. Not smart enough, not pretty enough.

Melchior was right. She wasn’t enough, and she never would be.

Not for him, not for any decent man. She understood now.

 

**four: hanschen**

_the differences and impulses, and your obsession with the little things._

The Gabor’s hayloft was stuffy, and dark, but it was all they had.

Melchior had dragged him in there one day after school, and without a word, kissed him.

Hanschen had been so taken aback he didn’t kiss back for a moment, but he eventually registered what was happened and reciprocated.

Melchior seemed pleased, and his hands began to wander to the buckle of his pants.

“Wait,” he’d said, “just...Just keep kissing me.”

He didn’t want sex. He just wanted to feel something again.

Melchior had seemed annoyed, but complied.

They only ever kissed. Hanschen wouldn’t let it go any further than that, but that was all they seemed to do. Hanschen would ask him things, try and tell him things, and suddenly his words were being muffled by Melchior’s lips against his.

“Can’t we just talk, Melchior?” he asked once.

“Why?”

“I want to know you.”

Melchior had begrudgingly agreed, and they’d spoke only briefly before Melchior began kissing down his jaw and neck. He had smiled, and leaned down to kiss his lips.

Melchior was not Max, but he was a warm body with a beating heart and soft lips and sparkling eyes and…He was enough.

“Melchior, stop,” he muttered, grabbing the other’s wrists as his hands wandered down.

“C’mon, Hanschen. We’ve been at this for months...Let me touch you,” he had said softly.

“No.”

Melchior’s eyes narrowed, and he moved forward to press their lips together again, hands returning to where they were reaching for.

“I said no!” Hanschen said, much too loudly, and Melchior slapped a hand over his mouth.

The sparkle in his eyes was gone now. They were dark now, and Hanschen stumbled backwards, shoving Melchior’s hand away and he ran to the door, out of the hayloft, off of the Gabor’s property, and all the way home.

He’d sat in the bath for hours, scrubbing every inch of his skin that Melchior’s hands had found until it was raw.

He never went back to that hayloft; there was no love there for him.

  


**five: otto**

_though i try to resist, i still want it all._

Why Otto kept finding himself there, he had no idea. Any secluded area they could find, Melchior would drag him there and touch him until he was breathless.

Otto knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Everything about Melchior was addicting. His lips, his hands, his chest, his neck...Otto kept going back for more. Every touch had him falling harder and harder.

He refused to acknowledge it unless he was right there in the moment, but he was falling. It came to the point where Otto went to Melchior first, practically begging.

That was when Melchior changed.

It wasn’t the same. Melchior had seemingly lost interest.

“Why don’t you like me anymore?” Otto had bluntly asked.

It was driving him crazy to see the lack of enthusiasm.

“I only want what I have to fight for,” Melchior replied, “and I don’t have to fight for you anymore.”

Otto didn’t understand what the fuck that meant.

“You shouldn’t have to fight for love,” Otto told him.

“Love?” Melchior laughed. “There’s no such thing as love, Otto. I thought you knew better than that.”

Otto simply stared at him. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

“I do. And if love is what you want, I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

Otto had nothing to say to that. He simply stepped back from Melchior and hardened his gaze, before turning on his heel and going home.

He would never admit that he cried that night.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading this train-wreck of pain!  
> i accidentally made this way sadder than i had originally intended.  
> but i hope you liked it. x


End file.
